


the love you're given

by kirkspocks



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Caretaking, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 01:04:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4371251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirkspocks/pseuds/kirkspocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will’s thoughts and mind were suspended above him, floating and relaxed. Not even Hannibal’s warm hands, which fixed Will’s wound and soothed his trembling, could ground him. Whatever it was that Hannibal had done to him—that sharp prick of a needle, cold flooding up his veins—numbed both pain and fear.</p><p> </p><p>A missing scene from "Dolce," aka "How did Will get cleaned up and into a fresh pair of clothes by dinner time?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	the love you're given

**Author's Note:**

> warning for hannibal's general creepiness and a drugged up will

Will’s thoughts and mind were suspended above him, floating and relaxed. Not even Hannibal’s warm hands, which fixed Will’s wound and soothed his trembling, could ground him. And though Will was up at the ceiling, he was still somehow watching Hannibal’s blurred figure move before him. Whatever it was that Hannibal had done to him—that sharp prick of a needle, cold flooding up his veins—numbed both pain and fear. 

It took away time, too.

Will’s shoulder was no longer drenched in blood, only lightly painted with it, and Hannibal’s hand was on his lower back, leading him down a hallway. A long, stretching hallway; it tilted uneasily, and Will felt they were moving too fast through it, though they were not approaching the open door at the end of the hall anytime soon. The door was doubled—or maybe there were two doors—and everything echoed, their footsteps and the sound of Hannibal’s voice. 

“Do you need any help?”

They stood before a bathtub. Will stared at it. The sound of pouring water swirled with together Hannibal’s words—everything was so loud—and the words repeated themselves three, four times.

With what?

“Yes,” Will said. 

Hannibal slid his hands down over Will’s ribs, and a chill traveled through Will’s body, brought goosebumps up to the surface of his skin, despite the heat the running bathwater gave off. Will heard his breath hitch, heard Hannibal’s amused noise in response. 

And then he felt Hannibal unbuckling his belt, felt hands against his zipper, toying with it before unzipping the fly. It made the small of Will’s back and the pit of his stomach tickle. Will smiled weakly as Hannibal dragged his underwear down, let them and his pants pool at his feet. 

In a single blink, Hannibal was gone. Will felt the floor tip sideways, and he realized how tired he was, how his bones and muscles ached to lie down. He wanted to close his eyes, let the ground spin below him until his mind returned to his body.

Hannibal tutted (and tutted, and tutted, the noise looping until it faded away) and softly tugged at Will’s wrist. Pain bloomed in Will’s shoulder, but he let himself be brought to his feet. 

“Too hot,” Will said, slurring. He stood in the tub, unsure of when he’d stepped in. Hannibal was holding him upright, hands resting gently on his naked waist. 

“You will adjust,” Hannibal said. “Sit, please. You shouldn’t be standing at all, in your state.” 

The room blurred as Will lowered himself, as if he was descending in an elevator. When he was seated in the tub—the hot water stung his shoulder, at first, but the pain quickly evaporated—Will leaned back against the edge, tipped his head back, and was pleased to find a thick towel to rest on. 

With eyes closed, the room resumed its spinning, though he and Hannibal and the tub remained in place. Will was glad for that, knowing they might be lost otherwise, in the thick fog and steam of the bathroom. 

“Will,” Hannibal said, his voice low and distant, “I am going to bathe you, since you seem incapable of doing so yourself at this time.”  
A voice at the very base of Will’s brain thought, “That’s your fault,” but he couldn’t quite comprehend its meaning. 

The water around Will moved, loud like roaring ocean waves. A clean, pleasant scent spilled into the air, mixed in with the sound of the waves, and a soaked washcloth scrubbed against him. Will sought the warmth of it, couldn’t help but arch into the towel’s rough texture. He was rewarded by the towel rubbing over him in a million places at once: the back of his neck, his chest, his stomach, his thighs. 

Will’s eyes rolled open—even the flutter of his eyelids and lashes softly echoed, sound bouncing off the walls—and his head lolled to the side when the sensation stopped. He saw Hannibal place the towel on the lip of the tub, watched water droplets from its edges rapidly descend into the tub.

Those droplets were then falling on him, and he wasn’t sure when he’d moved beneath the washcloth, or how he was able to do such a thing. It took a moment for Will to understand that the water cascading over his head—which managed to avoid his eyes—was from Hannibal, who still sat behind him, leaned on the outside of the tub. His hand was cupped on Will’s forehead. Hannibal kept at it until Will’s hair was drenched, drops of warm water speckling his shoulders and sliding down his back. 

More of the clean scent flooded the room, and then Hannibal massaged it into Will’s soaking hair. A warm tingle—like buzzing static on an old tv screen, except pleasant and warm—spread up Will’s neck and the very back of his head as Hannibal scratched blunt nails against Will’s scalp. 

Will felt trapped between a heavy drowsiness and pleasure. His mouth was parted open, and he squirmed, tilted his head to allow Hannibal access, let him massage and scrub as much as he could, wherever he wanted. 

Time cut out again, Will realized, when he was back outside the tub, wrapped in a towel while Hannibal combed through his hair. Will closed his eyes, allowed the floor to pivot below them. 

“I’m spinning,” Will whispered. The dizziness was catching up to him. He wanted it to stop, or at least slow down, like it had in the tub, beneath Hannibal’s hands.

“I know,” Hannibal said.

“I’d like to, um,” Will said, losing himself suddenly, distracted by the strange lights and shadows behind his eyes as Hannibal’s arms moved before him. Will blinked his eyes open, and he was greeted by a blurred picture, and he squinted. “I’d like to lie down, please.”

Hannibal dragged his thumb along Will’s cheek. Will let his eyes fall shut again, hypnotized by Hannibal stroking just behind his ear, a steady rhythm that quieted the buzzing and echoing. He wasn’t sure if or when they’d moved.

“You can lie down while I prepare dinner,” Hannibal said.

Will was buried underneath a mountain of sheets and a blanket that Hannibal had stretched over him once he’d noticed Will’s shivering. The world was cold outside the steam-filled bathroom, but it had stopped spinning now that Will was lying down, had taken to gently rocking instead.

“Not hungry,” Will mumbled.

From his blankets he saw Hannibal at the closet, and his figure jittered in an unsettling way, creating a brief, ghostly double just beside him as he sifted through clothes.

Hannibal paused. Will realized he had said that some time ago, but the words only escaped his mouth just now. With his mind drifting so far from him, it was hard to coordinate the timing of his speech. 

“You will be,” Hannibal said. 

Will had to roll over to find Hannibal’s voice. He was miles away, Will thought, at the far end of the bed, placing clothes down. 

“I’ll return to dress you in a few minutes.”

Will nodded, and let the room’s slow tilt soothe him to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> visit me at kirkspocks.tumblr.com ;-)


End file.
